


love game

by Diaphenia



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Forced Prostitution, Mild Gore, Non-Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:26:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diaphenia/pseuds/Diaphenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They called Madge’s name, and Katniss screamed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thinkatory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/gifts).



> With many thanks to loveleee for the beta, and ashisfriendly for the feels

They called Madge’s name, and Katniss screamed. 

In her head. She kept a smile pasted on her face, of course, because the Capitol wanted it that way, and the Capitol got what they wanted. 

“This is... she’s my friend,” she whispered to Haymitch, who was seated next to her. 

“Victors have no friends,” Haymitch muttered back. “You know that.” His face was pale as he stared at their new tribute, his jaw twitching. 

Katniss did know that. All too well. She’d made that mistake, thinking that her relationship with Gale would be unchanged by her participation in the Games, but her return had left him moody and distant. 

“It was the blood,” he’d finally admitted. “I thought it was no different, but Katniss... the blood.” She turned from him, and they never spoke of her victory afterwards.

And then, there’d been the accident. 

She’d been a good Victor after that, moving to the Capitol and doing all the things that were required of her. And she’d never again contacted Madge, not wanting the Capitol to know that they’d been friends, or something like it, in school. 

Foolish, she was, to think that they didn’t already know. 

Madge walked to the stage, her head held high. She waved to the relieved and the appalled alike, and when she got on stage, she made a show of shaking hands with Effie Trinket, the bejeweled yellow monstrosity. She then shook hands with each official, faltering only when her father pushed her hand aside and hugged her tightly. She went to Katniss next, and Katniss could see that underneath the bravado, her friend was deeply shaken by her father’s grief. Rather than shaking hands, Madge reached out and touched Katniss’s pin, the mockingjay that had been a gift from her only the year before, that had sat proudly on Katniss’s chest through the entire Games, mocking the ones who thought it was alright to make children fight to death. 

It was also the title they gave Katniss. The thing her clients called her before they—

Madge leaned over, whispered softly in her ear, “Go with it.” The whisper tickled Katniss, made her feel a little warm. Then Madge reached over, gave Katniss’s cheek a stroke, and pulled her to her mouth, kissing her softly on the lips. A moment later, she was gone, standing by Effie as if nothing had happened.

Something had, though, because Katniss could still feel the whisper, could still taste that kiss. 

“Well those two apparently know each other!” Effie remarked. “Margaret, if you have no one else to kiss, I’ll move on to the boys.”

Katniss smiled for the cameras too as they picked a scrawny young boy from the Seam, an underfed child who looked like he wanted to run but knew he wouldn’t. His march up to the stage was painful, as tears streaked his face. 

While the two tributes went to say goodbye to their loved ones, Katniss was swept up for photos, and it wasn’t until she was on the train that she got to speak to her tributes. 

Up close, the boy was even worse than he’d looked at the reaping, his skin terrible and his ribs prominent. Even in his best shirt, he was a mess. The stylists had their work cut out with him, though Katniss knew they’d even made her look pretty, so anything was possible. She quizzed him on skills, and found that he could run. Haymitch was in too dark a place tonight to talk, but she would talk to him about it later. In the meantime, she instructed her tribute to eat as much as he could, starting slowly. Getting sick now would only make his training more difficult. 

And his last days more unpleasant. 

She found Madge in the dining car, a plate of delicate sweets abandoned on the table in front of her. She was writing in beautiful cursive, the letters long and graceful, on a notepad in front of her. 

“I’m going to win, you know,” Madge said almost conversationally, as if she was referring to a simple guessing challenge, or a math puzzle. She looked at Katniss, steel in her blue eyes.

Katniss sat across the table from her, and waited. 

“I know I’m not particularly fit, but I’m beautiful,” Madge continued. She twisted her fingers into her blonde hair. “Or I will be by the tribute parade.” 

Katniss considered her carefully. It had been a year since she’d last seen Madge, and the goodbyes before the 73rd Games were mostly a blur. She remembered the pin, a kiss on the cheek, and little else. 

But Madge was sixteen now, and the year had been kind to her. She’d filled out; apparently, even the richest family in the District had benefited from Katniss’s win. Her breasts were firm under her lacy white dress, just a hint of cleavage visible. The camera probably loved that, Katniss thought. 

Her face, too, was heart-shaped, and her skin pale as though she’d never been outside. Her blond hair was smooth and glossy, and Katniss wondered if it felt like the silk dresses she occasionally wore to client sessions. Those dresses were slippery and cool to the touch, and when she zipped them on to her body, she usually broke out into gooseflesh. Katniss suspected she’d have the same reaction, touching the cool, slippery fabric of Madge’s hair.

The Capitol would love her and her cleavage and her slippery hair.

They would _love_ her. 

“Winning isn’t so great,” she started carefully. She thought back over the past year, and tried to remember that at least things were good for Prim. Prim, who finally had enough to eat. Prim, who had a wool jacket and peaches and a large house haunted by ghosts only Katniss had to see. 

“Katniss, I _know_. I know what happens to Victors.”

Katniss felt her face get hot. She had no idea that anyone from her district knew what “official Capitol business” consisted of, that it wasn’t all banquets and awkwardly-stilted commercials and ads for lipstick and arrow-shaped earrings. “No,” she said, hoping that would be enough.

“My aunt was Maysilee Donner, did you know that?”

This made Katniss pause. Maysilee was left out of all the official records, but her story was practically legend among District Twelve. Katniss’s father had told her about it when she was young, after she’d asked about District Twelve’s Victor and his drunken behavior. 

Maysilee, a young blonde beauty with a talent for candy-making, had been reaped for the Second Quell. In the arena, she’d been a smart girl, killing several other tributes, including a Career. But her real move was teaming up with a young Haymitch Abernathy, a boy from the Seam. Together, the two of them fell in love, bring monumental changes to the Games as Capitol citizen cried out for the two of them to live. 

They changed the rules midway through, saying two tributes from the same district could live, if they were the only two left. When at last the rest of the tributes had passed, the two had waited for the announcement that they would both be crowned Victors, holding hands anxiously while District Twelve, watching on the screens, erupted into cheers. 

Then, it was announced that the rules had changed yet again, and the two of them would have to fight to the death. 

The two of them, after a long pause, walked. They walked on and on, while the cameras followed their every move, while even the poisoned animals seemed to watch them. They reached a canyon, and the two of them kissed briefly before grabbing hands and jumping to their deaths, a pair of lovers who had overcome the most difficult of circumstances only to end it all. 

Except there was a force field, so just as everyone had given up hope that there would be a Victor, there were again two. 

At that point, the Gamemakers were forced to crown them both. 

The two Victors were given lavish banquets and paraded around the Districts, the two lovers held up as model participants of the Games, and the children of District Twelve turned almost plump from the extra food they were given. 

But then, at the 51st Games, a plot was discovered, and Maysilee was at the center of it. She was the figurehead of a rebellion, a group determined to overthrow the government and rescue the children in the Games. 

Her father had paused his story there, looking Katniss in the eye as he slowly and carefully assured her that there was no plot, and he certainly hadn’t known anything about it. 

Maysilee and a large group of citizens were publicly executed as an example to Panem. This group included Haymitch’s entire family, from his mother to his sister to his lovely cousin. Haymitch himself, however, was spared, and he turned to drink not long after.

Katniss knew the story, but she’d never realized Maysilee had a niece. She wondered why her father would leave that detail out. 

“I’ve been marked for death since I was a child,” Madge said, still remarkably casual. “My aunt ensured that from the moment she emerged from the arena. It was her pin, you know, that you wore when you went.”

Katniss looked down at her pin, the golden symbol of a failed rebellion, and suddenly knew it was true. 

Madge continued, twirling her pen in her fingers. “But I would do anything to live. And that includes whatever things they make you do.”

Katniss didn’t have words for all the things they made her do, but— she was alive. 

Madge leaned across the table, taking Katniss’s hands into hers. They were small and smooth, and the pressure was almost reassuring. “I think it’s time we give the Capitol another love story.”

***

“You’re trying to act?” Johanna asked, smothering a laugh.

“We’re trying to convince the masses,” Madge said. “And they already love Katniss.”

“Sure, who doesn’t love a new Victor? They’re _all over_ a new victor.” Johanna asked. “Right, Kat?”

Katniss knew Johanna was just trying to get under her skin, but that didn’t make her sarcasm any less grating. “I came to you for help, but we can just try Haymitch again, or—”

It was a bluff and they all knew it. Haymitch refused to talk to Madge. His drinking had gotten worse since she got reaped, which left Katniss mostly on her own. She’d never mentored before, and this was _Madge_ , and she still had to deal with clients and the other Victors besides. 

“Yeah, I’ll help,” Johanna said. “Not like I need to waste time on my tributes. Have you seen them? They won’t last a night.”

Madge look appalled, but Katniss knew. She’d talked to Johanna regularly when they were both in the Capitol, and Johanna dealt with these things the only way she could. “Don’t ever get attached, Katniss,” she’d whispered to her one day, while the two of them cleaned up from a particularly messy client session. “That’s the secret. That’s how you mentor, that’s how you deal with your family and friends, that’s how you deal with all these Capitol motherfuckers. Just— don’t let yourself get attached.” 

Katniss knew she was right. 

And hopefully, Madge would know it too one day. 

“Let’s see. I need to see the two of you touch. The kiss on stage was sweet, but I need to see hot, you know?”

Katniss immediately went over to Madge, curled her hair around her fingers and grabbed her jaw. 

“No, not like a whore. Didn’t you ever have a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or genuine human feelings about a person?”

Katniss’d never had a crush, the way Johanna had once described it to her, where a person made her stomach flutter, or where she’d wanted to touch someone so much she’d ached. Over the past year, she’d learned to mimic desire, but it was always an act. 

She and Madge had always had a sort of friendship, but it was different than her relationship with Gale had been. Gale— she _trusted_ Gale, depended on him with her life, did illegal things with him, felt _free_ with him, out there in the woods, under the cover of the trees.

But Madge had been a different story. She’d been a quiet but steady presence. They ate lunch together most days, Madge reading her tawdry paperbacks from the Capitol as she ate moist roasted turkey breast on a seeded rye bread, or creamy, golden cheddar cheese on tart, crisp green apple slices, imported from another district for a premium. Katniss’s lunches had gone from filling to pitiful to substantive again, and Madge never treated her differently for it. They hardly ever spoke, but the days when Madge had to miss lunch were dreadfully long. 

Once, Madge had to work on a project with Peeta Mellark, and for an entire week, the two of them had sat together, plotting out a report on the Victors of District Three. Every time she looked over at the two of them, her gut had curled in a sort of anger, that she couldn’t even properly be mad at him for occupying her companion. 

_Peeta_. She still couldn’t let herself think of him as the young boy he’d once been, before the Games had torn that apart. 

He’d come to her the night before the Games, up on the roof, under the canopy of stars that might have been cameras.

“I thought we might try to work together,” he’d said, his face guarded. 

“I don’t even know what that means,” she’d told him, refusing to meet his eyes, knowing she might have to kill him soon.

“It’s been done before,” he’d said. “Not just Careers. We team up. Sleep in shifts. Protect each other.”

She’d refused to contemplate it seriously, so ludicrous was that suggestion. “And if we’re the last two there?”

He’d sighed, and given her this speech about how he didn’t want to _change_ , become something the Capitol wanted. 

If he could see her now. 

But that night they’d spent together on the roof, talking, and he’d told her she should trust him, and that he’d always liked her, as a _person_ , but his eyes... they had told a different story. 

She remembered that look Peeta had given her. She saw it often, mostly at night when the parade of dead marched past her eyes, but right now, she tried to replicate it. 

“Close, Kitty,” Johanna said, her fingers running lightly over Katniss’s back. She let her fingers trail off of Katniss as she went over to Madge. Johanna grabbed her, pressing her against the wall, her fingers splayed over Madge’s shoulder, her eyes wide as she took in the blonde. She moved her hand to Madge’s hip, drumming her fingers against her rhythmically. Madge’s breath hitched, and she touched Johanna’s hip too, a look of wonder on her face. 

Katniss felt her gut curl again.

***

Watching Caesar from the audience was infinitely preferable to being up on stage, Katniss discovered.

Haymitch was next to her, drinking, but sober enough. He’d been working with the boy, she knew that, but he could still hardly stand to be in the same room as Madge. Though she and Haymitch worked well together, they had to do this year alone, she knew. 

She watched child after child go on stage— and they were children, now, even the ones who were older than her, even the ones who would go on to brutally murder each other the next day. She saw that in hindsight, realized that even those that had been a threat to her were acting according to the dictates of their circumstances. 

She flashed to Nico, the Career she’d faced down. Nico had been a beautiful redhead from District Four, a strong, muscular boy who’d murdered his district partner the moment the two of them were alone. He’d been terrifying, an eighteen-year-old who’d had full facial hair until the Capitol had time to fix that. He’d been her second kill, and his blood had run red over the sands of the arena. Just before he’d died, he’d cried out for his mother. She could still hear that, at night, his plaintive cries, and she knew she could never think of Tributes as anything but children, caught up in the game Peeta had spoken about once. 

Still, she knew that in order to bring her friend home, she had to think of them as enemies, enemies to Madge. At least, as a danger to her. They were children, but scared, desperate children, and her years hunting had taught her that desperate, scared animals were the most dangerous. 

She knew the District Two pair was a danger. She’d been watching them in the practice rooms, and they were both trained and deadly. She’d asked Enobaria once what her childhood was like, what it was to grow up with the expectation she’d go to the Games. 

“There were thirty-six girls in my training class,” she’d said. “Thirty-six girls, and we slept in bunks, with our doors unlocked. I was handy with a knife before I got my first period.” She had gotten quiet after that. “Well, it’s a _fuck_ or _be fucked_ world.” Then she grabbed a particularly complicated device from the stack before she’d exited, off to another session. 

She wondered how many people that dark-haired D2 girl had cut, and if she’d go after Madge. 

She wondered how she could watch the D11 girl, a sweet little girl, a darker version of Prim, die. 

Madge crossed the stage in a beautiful gown of white glitter, her hair a golden halo around her. She greeted Caesar like they were friends, and Katniss remembered that she was the Mayor’s daughter, at ease with Capitol folk. 

“So, Margaret,” he said. “You’re clearly old friends with Ms. Katniss Everdeen.”

“More than friends, Caesar,” she said, her fake giggle punctuating the sentence. 

“Really,” he said, a lecherous grin on his face. “And how has Katniss changed from before the Games?”

“Well. She’s learned all sorts of _new things_ , if you know what I mean. New tools. And she’s been training me day and _night_ on them.” 

Katniss hoped her mother wasn’t watching, that the Capitol-provided television that took up most of the wall in the living room was off. 

“And what sort of skills have you picked up that will help you in the Games?”

“I don’t know how much I can show off in the arena, but afterwards, Katniss and I are going to show Panem our District Twelve girl skills.”

Katniss heard a wolf-whistle behind her, piercing the cheers, and she turned. The whistler was a man in a shiny, sleek silver suit. His cheekbones were highlighted in silver, but his hair was a shock of pink. 

She’d had a session with him once. He’d asked her to pretend he was Fila, the D6 girl she’d—

She was going to be sick. 

Naturally, Caesar chose this moment to throw the spotlight on her. She stood, waved to the people, ignored the silver man with the pink hair, and blew kisses at the crowd, hoping each of those kisses would buy a sponsor for Madge. 

***

Dinner that night was a somber affair. The first, and last, time they all gathered around the table; Katniss, Haymitch, Effie, Cinna and Portia, and their two tributes. 

“Remember,” Haymitch said, ticking off advice, his eyes focused on the boy. “Stay away from the cornucopia, no matter what _Katniss over here_ did. Keep up high when you can, away from the other Tributes, from water, from animals. Remember your survival skills, and keep warm.” He drained his cup of electrical purple liquid, which was refilled before it could hit the table. “And— whatever you do in there, you can’t... _it’s not you_. Don’t let them get inside you. If you figure out how to do that, let me know how.”

“Chins up, keep your smiles wide, and the camera will love you,” Effie said. “Put on a show, no matter what happens. Just put on a show. Like Katniss did, with the blood, right after she won.”

“They reward beauty,” Portia said. “Keep yourself up as best you can. Finger-comb your hair, ruddy those cheeks.”

Cinna looked over both the tributes, his gold eyeliner suspiciously moist. “Someone has to win. It could just as easily be one of you.”

Katniss felt their eyes on her, but she kept her mouth filled with piping hot beef sandwiched between warm dinner rolls. 

After dessert, and a handshake from Haymitch, both the tributes were sent to bed. Katniss was restless, too wired to sleep. Her veins were coursing with energy, and she didn’t know what to do with herself. 

“Katniss,” Effie said. She was in her nightgown and robe already, but her makeup and wig were both firmly in place. “How’re you feeling?”

Katniss dropped automatically onto the couch next to Effie. “Fine.”

“It’s natural to feel anxious the night before the Games, but Margaret has done a wonderful job engaging the viewers, and I know you’ve been working extra-hard with her on her survival skills.”

“Sure.”

“And with her natural abilities with running, she has a better-than-average chance of winning. And the _sponsors_ she will have! You just have to remember, a big part of getting those sponsors will rest on your little shoulders.”

 _Great_ , Katniss thought. 

“You know, Katniss, I really feel we’ve gotten close in the last year, and I’ve been concerned, that you haven’t liked any of your suitors—”

That was one name for them, certainly. 

“But I see now why. You and Margaret have a certain glow about each other when you’re in the same room. I can see it on your faces. Ah, young love! Did I ever tell you about my first boyfriend?”

Katniss shook her head, then tuned out Effie’s story. How did she feel about Madge? 

She was definitely a friend. Not as close as Gale, perhaps, but their mutual poverty had made their friendship a necessity. In fact, friendship with Madge had only ever been a distraction, but one she looked forward to. 

Katniss thought about how sick she’d felt, watching Madge with Peeta, or with Johanna. 

She thought about the kiss they’d shared. 

She thought about how Madge was probably going to die. 

Katniss stood up, right in the middle of Effie’s story— ignoring Effie’s protest of indignation— and knocked on Madge’s door. 

Madge opened the door, wearing a floor-length nightgown. She had a question on her face. 

Katniss grabbed her hand and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind them with a _click_ of the lock. 

“I thought you might have trouble sleeping,” Katniss said. “I remember I couldn’t sleep either.”

“You came,” Madge said. “I thought it was just for the cameras, but you came.”

Katniss looked at her, grabbed chin, and lowered her face down to Madge’s waiting lips. Madge gripped her back, pulling her in tighter, and Katniss could practically hear Johanna cheering her on. “ _That’s_ how you kiss a girl, Kat,” she’d say, looking smug. 

“I’ve wanted this for— so long. Since I was fourteen,” Madge said, her hands running all over Katniss. 

“Really?” Katniss asked. She pulled back.

“Do you remember when we had those two weeks of dance class last year in gym?”

Katniss remembered that. They were ninth graders, and it was mandatory. She’d been partnered up with Thom, a senior who was friends with Gale. It had been hopelessly awkward, since Katniss tried to lead every time despite the fact she didn’t know the steps. The dances weren’t fun like the raucous dance steps of the Seam, but the much more muted dancing of the Merchants. 

“Dancing is the worst,” she’d told Madge over lunch one day. They usually didn’t talk, but Katniss’s toes still smarted from being stepped on, plus Gale kept pulling her aside to warn her that Thom was as likely to drag her to slag heap as dance with her, as though his desire would obligate her to follow. Nevermind that Thom seemed entirely uninterested.

“It’s not so bad,” Madge said. She’d been paired up with a Mellark, another golden wrestler that matched her good looks and social standing. This one was funny, too, because Madge seemed to spend all of gym class giggling. “In fact, I’ve been thinking. Are you going to the Harvest Festival? There’s a dance on Friday, you know, and now we’re old enough to attend.”

Katniss had snorted. As though she had the time or the inclination. 

“Me either,” Madge said, and they hadn’t talked for the rest of the lunch period.

“I just wanted to dance with you,” Madge said, fingering the edge of Katniss’s sweater, made of a soft gray wool that was thin yet warm. “May I?”

Katniss nodded, and Madge pulled the sweater off, staring in awe at Katniss’s bra. She touched the scalloped lace along the edge, too nervous to touch Katniss’s skin. 

Katniss pulled Madge over to the bed. “Have you done this before?” she asked, peppering Madge’s throat with small kisses. 

“Have I done _this_ , like kissing, or _this_ like— _oh!_.”

Katniss had had to learn this quickly. Before the Games, she’d been a virgin. Her first time, then, had been scheduled with a minor politician, a Capitol man from money who wanted to be _her_ victor. 

But Haymitch knew what was coming, even if Katniss had been hopelessly naive about the whole thing, and he’d delivered Johanna and Finnick Odair to Katniss’s room the night before. “They’ll— help,” he’d said, before slamming her hotel room door shut. 

She didn’t have feelings for her fellow Victors, or any of her _suitors_ afterwards, but Finnick had been kind, and Johanna had been gentle, and Katniss had been ready when the politician came, and for the long line of men and women who had also paid for her services. She knew what to do and how to do it and how to drift out of her head, sometimes with the help of the mysterious pills the other Victors took. 

But she was fully present now, for the first time. 

And as she pulled Madge’s nightgown off, Katniss felt this was like her first time, the way it always should have been. 

***

Madge died, and the Capitol always won, Katniss knew that now. 

Katniss had become a Victor despite that pin, but on Madge, it had been a target. She saw that in the smirk on Snow’s face when he’d offered his insincere condolences. Madge was always going to die, like her aunt, like little Rue from District Eleven, like all the people of Panem. 

She hadn’t even had time to grieve, with the Games still going on. There were cameras everywhere, after all, and the only thing better than a love story was a tragic one. 

“Sorry about your girlfriend,” Finnick said, sitting next to Katniss. 

“Fuck off,” she said. _His_ girlfriend was alive and mostly fine. 

He hugged her, pulling her tight to his chest, and he burrowed his face under a curtain of Katniss’s loose hair. “Don’t let it show on your face, but we’re planning a rebellion,” he breathed into her ear. “It’s called... the _Mockingjay Plan_.”


End file.
